All white, like the two walls of my room
A glass bottle sitting on it, same shade as the other two
A switchboard beside, with the router plugged in
Only had the ceiling lights --- brightness is quite dim
Four rows of a vertical shelf and a dressing mirror
But the two wooden shelves on it, is what I actually admire
A wooden bed frame, the door and a window
Yet something about the whiteboard made my brain follow
The humid air turned the room musty
Yet the worktop wasn't at all dusty
But oh ! I reached for the two shelves, and the dust had piled
Then I realised that the cupboard roof also needs dusting once in a while
The adapter plugged into the switchboard, also needs to be wiped off sometimes
I love my workspace but it shouldn't be where I'm confined
the pen hovered over the page,
unsure.
then a sentence arrived
shy, but determined~
a small creature swimming out of the ink.
Little by little, it sounds brittle,
As it is human.
Little by little, it starts breaking,
As if it were a mirror.
Little by little, everything is smashed,
As if it were a storm.
Why is everything a clutter of emotions?
Why does everything shatter in times of misfortune?
Why are there more questions than answers?
My only solace is God,
Yet thousands stand as my opponents.
A chapter I write at my desk,
A chapter I write to solve these puzzled questions.
Ah! Is this the mystery,
Or do I wish to create history?
I know there will be an end to all my chains,
But is that end only ignorance,
Or could it be death?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the antique glaze whispers ink-stained tales,
its drawer still holds her vanished breath~
a quill, a seal, three unread wills,
and time's thin dust.
old slag value, as valuable as Value allows it
Then as a valuable secondary source,
the slag resulted from the gold-bearing
electrolytic mud smelting
contains up to 0.8–15 k g t-1
Au and 9–13 kg t-1 Ag, respectively
------------------------------------------------
Coal Ash experiments
sorted theories and Soughted formulas.
Coal ash pits using sewage,
sawdust, and other
dissuaded organics
to recreate renewable coal.
Leaves, shredded wood chipped
wood ash, tobacco stalks
straw hat manure compose
all will be mixed and allowed to
cure to recreate a renewable
source for energy.
Racheter l'ancien Walmart du comté de McDowell,
en Virginie-Occidentale, pour créer un nouveau
magasin et contribuer à la relance
de l'industrie charbonnière locale.
Musique pour basson et cor d'harmonie
Ce genre de musique « Ooh Baby »
pure acceptance
we’re at the frontline
of the exterior
it’s too late
you claimed birthing
ordinary detail is
disaster and a freudian game
away from the climate of things
the love affair on TV is play
it’s control
seated, standing, lying naked
on your desk.
silence
a breath
yes that’s me,
I need this.
Just pen and paper
To help escape from the troubles of yesterday.
Pen full, yet paper empty
Lighting a cigarette
Inhaling that menthol once more.
Exhaling
I watch my cloud of smoke fade
Just as my words fade from my head again.
Ashes fall on blank paper where words should be.
Pen full and paper still empty,
But maybe tomorrow
Words might stay.
wide computer screen
white copy paper
folders and files
markers and pencils
large laser printer
pack of gel pens
swingline stapler
green plaid scotch tape
purple ruler
paper punch
paper clips
ink cartridge
scissors
pushpins
desk
oiled walnut desk
ornate fancy vintage
gift from a great aunt
a hundred years old
too small to be utilized
homes gorgeous landmark
I am intrigued by the letters dancing on the white sheets, forgotten on the desk,
Chapters that lead nowhere, a monotonous and tiring journey.
But what captivates my soul are the pebbles on the riverbank,
I wish to ask them where their journey through time began.
Were they pushed by rebellious waves or did they stop for rest?
Silent, they carry the secrets of the waters that caressed them through time.
I am also intrigued by the fallen leaves, guides of the changing wind,
Was their separation painful, or did they say goodbye gently?
Clouds like cotton candy float on the sky as blue as an ocean,
Will they pass by my house or bless me with their rain?
These questions weave my thoughts into a labyrinth of melancholy,
For in the simple mysteries of nature, I find magic and solace.
Crowded Desk
Room to write.
Writer’s block.
Pen to the paper.
Get to work.
Crowded desk.
Crowded thoughts.
These are your words.
Art to color.
Mind racing.
Document your life.
Be descriptive.
Be true, be different.
Crowded mind.
Take a walk anytime.
Clear the air.
Another poem not written.
SILENT HOMES
Silence
cloak of protection
worn longing for
heaven
sways in dust
settles
wistful
plays hide
then seek
walks valleys of unknowingness
and solitary alleys
naked wounds
shatter silence
of wounded birds
peeping through
torn curtains
hiding under unlaundered
sheets
those that witnessed
boiling water
screams
the terror of
war
in silent
homes
Silence writes
letters
to itself
never posts
them
they become
tears soaking
floral pillow
Silence goes to work
next day
Nothing
happened
Just a mouldy sandwich
in
her desk
drawer
A bottle of sore throat relief spray lies on my desk
Along with sixteen torn up pages of past written poems
My cell phone sits here too, a box of Kleenexes, six notebooks
There are two computer monitors on this desk
I like clutter, it makes me feel safe and loved
Is that a barrette? I watch it moving steadily away
A tiny pincher bug, adding a bit of life to this mess
A knife on the desk
"To be or not to be" says
The intrusive thoughts
What vain creatures we are
We actually think we are THE star
Of the universe
What if we are
Merely a small part
One idea is that we are
On God’s desk
in a snow globe our galaxy
as only one of the snow flakes
We are not perhaps aware
That much more is out there
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